


sunset, moonlight, sunrise

by polkadot



Category: Hobbs & Shaw (2019)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 04:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20091271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkadot/pseuds/polkadot
Summary: After the fight on Samoa is all over, Luke and Shaw come to a new understanding. (A tent is involved.)





	sunset, moonlight, sunrise

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [日落，月下，日出](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25048852) by [tiffsny880503](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiffsny880503/pseuds/tiffsny880503)

“You kissed my fucking sister,” Shaw says, without any preamble. 

Shaw doesn’t do preambles. Luke knows this, but he’s standing on the edge of a cliff enjoying a sunset. It’s the first time he’s been home in decades, and he’s a little surprised he isn’t dead right now, given everything they’ve just been through, and really, Shaw is ruining a lovely moment.

“Technically,” he says, because if Shaw’s going to be an ass, he certainly can too, “she kissed me.”

Shaw’s eyes narrow. “I warned you, Hobbs. I fucking warned you.”

If Luke liked Shaw, and if Shaw wasn’t an incredible pain in his ass, he might’ve told him that he’s worrying over nothing. Hattie is a fierce fighter, very impressive, and she seems like a great woman, but the chemistry just isn’t there. Funny thing, chemistry, because on paper she ought to be exactly Luke’s type. Lithe, fast, smart, fearless, intense – all highly attractive qualities. But there’s something missing, and from the way she half-smiled after that kiss, Luke’s pretty sure she felt the same thing.

He’s not exactly going to tell _Shaw_ that, though. “If Hattie wants me, that’s our business, not yours.”

Shaw looks even more incensed. Though Luke sometimes has trouble grading his levels of incensed. There’s a lot of them and they tend to blend together a little. “Since when do you come off calling her Hattie?”

“Well, she did jump into my lap. In a speeding vehicle, fleeing a fiery death. Seemed to establish a first-name basis. And I can’t call her Shaw.”

Shaw’s expression momentarily acknowledges the truth of the last point, but his glare quickly intensifies, and he crosses his arms. “You won’t have to call her anything. We’re leaving.”

Luke looks back at the sunset, and sighs. Almost gone now. “First of all, Dinkley’s flight doesn’t get here until tomorrow, so settle down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Shaw says. It’s an autopilot response, and lacks his usual bite.

“Second,” Luke says, ignoring the interruption, “if you want Hattie to stop paying attention to me, go talk to her yourself.”

Shaw’s grimace deepens, but for once it doesn’t seem entirely directed at Luke. “Fat lot of good that’ll do me,” he mutters under his breath. “Stubborn-ass…”

“It sounds like you have a lot of catching up to do,” Luke says. “She doesn’t want you to order her around, but she might want a brother to talk to.”

Shaw’s attention turns wholly on him. His eyes are searching, burning into Luke’s face. “Are you seriously telling me how to cockblock you right now?”

“Hey,” Luke says, suddenly tired. “I have brothers of my own I need to talk to before we leave. Family’s not something you can just…family’s everything. You two have been apart for a long time, and I get that. She needs you a helluva lot more than me tonight.”

“No shit. Like she’d ever need you.” But there’s no venom in it.

Luke turns away, turns his back on Shaw, which is rather foolhardy if he thinks about it. He finds that he’s not that worried about it, though, and there’s still another five minutes of sunset to enjoy. There’s no sunset quite like a Samoan sunset, and no sunset quite like one you weren’t sure you’d see. The combination is exhilarating.

After a minute he hears Shaw leave.

~

Luke’s sleeping in a tent tonight. He doesn’t have to – his family would’ve found him a bed – but he likes tents. They take him right back to childhood, and if he closes his eyes and smells the night air, he can almost imagine that he’s eleven again, surrounded by brothers telling ghost stories and whispering back and forth under the stars.

“Hobbs.”

That whisper wasn’t a brotherly one. Even whispering, the voice is annoying.

“What,” he says, flat, not bothering to whisper.

Shaw makes an impatient sound, and then the zipper on Luke’s tent is unzipping.

Luke sits up. He’s not flustered, he never gets flustered, but this tent is not very large, and he’s not wearing a lot of clothes, and Shaw, however undersized he is, is going to make things a bit closer quarters than he was anticipating.

“Brixton’s boss sent more troops?” It’s the only thing he can think of that would require Shaw to come after him at this time of night. Shit, they should’ve thought of that, they should’ve got Dinkley to send an earlier flight –

Shaw left the flap half undone, and in the moonlight Luke can make out an odd look on his face. He thought he knew most of Shaw’s looks by now, but this is a new one. “Don’t think so.”

Luke leans back on his elbows to make a little room. Shaw’s squatting next to him, somehow managing to make it look like a comfortable and natural position, but they’re still quite close. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was dreaming, because this is certainly not a situation he ever thought he’d find himself in.

“Something wrong with Hattie?” The question’s a safe one.

Shaw doesn’t answer him for a minute, just keeps watching him in the moonlight. It’s starting to be unsettling. Then, finally, “She said something funny.”

“Huh,” Luke says. “Was it about your face?” It’s a stupid quip, but he feels off-balance. 

Shaw rolls his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.” 

That’s more familiar to Luke than the oddly searching gaze was. He relaxes a little.

“She said,” Shaw continues, slowly, “that she doesn’t think you’re interested in her at all.”

“I offered to kiss her again. After she kissed me. And I think she promised to kiss me again if we both lived, which, look at that, we did.” He doesn’t know why he’s protesting. It’s true, after all.

Shaw doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to him, which to be fair isn’t something new. “She thinks you’re interested in somebody else.”

_Fuck_. There are some secrets that are supposed to stay between a man and his subconscious. Or, okay, between a man and his less-subconscious, but still private, thoughts. If Luke occasionally jerks off in the shower to thoughts of…someone…that doesn’t give anyone the right to waltz in and just, _guess_ that, however strong and fierce and fucking smart they are. It’s not fair.

“Huh,” he says, not sure if his voice is working properly. “Funny.”

“That’s what I said.”

Another moment of heavy silence in the too-small tent, the moonlight playing across Shaw’s face, and Luke’s mouth dry as the desert.

“You know what?” Shaw says, finally. “Fuck it.”

Luke doesn’t know what that means, and he opens his mouth to ask, or to make a joke, or to needle Shaw, he hasn’t decided yet, but he never gets that far.

Because Shaw’s leaned forward, put his hands on either side of Luke’s face, and kissed him.

Kissing Hattie was sweet, a quick press of lips that felt like kissing a cousin. Kissing Shaw is like –

Kissing Shaw is like fire, roaring up over Luke’s skin. Kissing Shaw is like an electric shock, ripping through Luke’s veins like Brixton’s torture, pleasure instead of pain. Kissing Shaw is like a pure shot of adrenalin, lighting up Luke’s body like the moment when you realize that despite everything, you’re still alive.

For the first few moments, he’s still propped up on his elbows, frozen in place as Shaw kisses him, filthy and glorious, but then he surges into action. He throws a leg around Shaw’s ass, sitting up and pushing Shaw over in the same fluid movement. The kiss breaks only for a moment, and then he’s half on top of Shaw, pushing him down into the sleeping bag as he leans down to resume it.

Some part of him still expects to find a knife in his ribs at any moment, and that part finds the danger hot. The rest of him finds space to realize that whether Shaw is or is not compensating for something, he kisses like a fucking devil, and perhaps he should have known that he would, because when is Shaw not intense? He kisses like he fights, he kisses like he speaks, and Luke gives back as good as he gets, his fingers digging into Shaw’s biceps, Shaw’s fingers leaving bruises on the side of Luke’s neck.

Finally, Shaw pushes a hand against Luke’s chest, and Luke breaks the kiss, giving him a little space. He looks – well, he looks like Shaw, but he’s under Luke’s body, and his mouth is wet, and his eyes are – Luke’s always liked his eyes. 

“So that’s a yes,” Shaw says, and fuck, his voice is ragged.

There are a million things Luke could say. 

But Shaw is hard against his thigh, and Luke is so hard he could knock someone out with his dick, and there’s a look in Shaw’s face, something almost – almost uncertain, and Luke finds, a little to his surprise, that he’s momentarily lost the urge to be a wiseass.

“Shaw,” he says instead, and hears the rasp in his own voice. 

Shaw’s tongue comes out to lick his lips, and Luke watches it.

“This is a fucking horrible idea,” Shaw says.

“Probably,” Luke agrees. “That Russian girlfriend of yours might take me out. And we might knock the tent over. And I still think you’re overcompensating.”

Shaw glares at him – but then, suddenly he’s laughing. A snort of a laugh, half-reluctant, but it makes him look younger. It makes him look good. “Fuck the tent.”

“Yeah?” Luke says, and, brave, leans down to bite under Shaw’s jaw. A nip, really, but it makes Shaw make a little noise, and Luke is, if possible, suddenly harder.

“Yeah,” Shaw says, and sticks his hand down Luke’s boxers. 

After that Luke stops thinking.

~

Somehow, when Luke wakes up the next morning, the tent is still standing.

There’s nobody in it with him. 

Maybe he dreamed the whole thing. It’s a depressing thought, but at least his subconscious must have had an enjoyable time. He stretches, feeling the twinges of various minor and medium injuries. Brixton was a formidable opponent.

“Get up, fuckface,” Shaw says, from outside the tent flap. “Your family’s asking about you. We have to leave soon.”

“Be there in five.” 

No answer. Shaw’s already gone.

Luke stretches again, working out the kinks, scratching his stomach, taking an inventory of his bruises. Feels like he tried to pull a helicopter from the sky with his bare hands. Oh wait, that was actually a thing.

His fingers graze a particularly tender spot and he looks down, wincing a little. 

Then he smiles.

When he passes Shaw on his way to the house, he leans in slightly and says, conversationally, “You left a bite mark.”

Shaw’s expression is as intense as ever. When Shaw looks at you, he sees every inch of you. 

Luke grins at him, making it over-the-top and roguish.

Shaw doesn’t grin back. That’s not Shaw. The most Luke’s going to get is something in Shaw’s eyes, something… he could almost call it a sparkle. (Though Shaw would kill him if he ever called it that out loud.)

“Good,” Shaw says.

“My luck, you’ll give me rabies.”

Shaw looks exasperated. More so than usual. “Fuck you.”

Luke grins even wider. He’s home, and he’s alive, and he’s saved the world, and his brother’s forgiven him, and he remembers what a Samoan sunset looks like, and he knows that Deckard Shaw is most definitely not overcompensating. His heart’s a bird, flying free. (His dick, meanwhile, thinks Shaw’s hungry predator look augurs well for a repeat performance.)

“You offering?” he says.

Shaw shrugs, an elaborately unconcerned one-shoulder movement. 

Luke is no genetically enhanced Superman. He can’t read minds, or predict movements, or whatever else they programmed into Brixton. But he knows Shaw, and when he sees the twitching around the corners of Shaw’s mouth, he knows what it means. He breathes in, centering himself, and thinks of the way Shaw looked at him in the moonlight.

Who knows what the future will bring? The world never stops needing to be saved. 

Perhaps, however, Luke’s found someone to save it with. 

“C’mon,” he says, lightly. “My mother will want to feed you.”

Hattie, coming up behind Shaw, lets out a fervent “Thank fuck. I’m _starving_.” 

Luke offers her his arm, elaborately courteous. “Shall we?”

Smiling, she links arms with both of them, and together they set out into the sunrise.

~


End file.
